


Three steps

by aurorae



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurorae/pseuds/aurorae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People could have almost mistaken Hisoka as normal when Gon was with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one step, three steps

**Author's Note:**

> forgive me padre for i have sinned
> 
> based on [these](http://pechyenka.tumblr.com/post/66647456049/its-a-given-that-shotaguro-hisogon-is-the-nectar) [posts](http://pechyenka.tumblr.com/post/66647973112/imagine-hisoka-getting-protective-over-gon)
> 
> au kinda not really almost

The instinctive course of action when the familiar blood-curling screams resonated from the dimly lit alleyways in the brink of the night was to overlook the sound of pitiful pleading, the shrill sobbing, the whimpering exchange to live another day for their commitments to acts of servitude—“Pl-Please, I’ll—I’ll do _anything!_ ”—a vain effort as the walls, concrete, and trash bins would be splashed with a trickling layer of warm, pooling blood forming under the corpse of his target: this task was relatively simple, eliminate the ‘nuisance’ exploiting the secrets of a corporal company and secure their severed head. Missions of ease quenched his occasional bloodthirst rather than longer missions where he would have to gather his patience before striking, depending on the mood the day presented the kills would range from clean, violent, or gradual, today however he was satisfied by the last minute groveling that he could no longer contain himself.

It was a fairly rare occurrence to witness a severed head regardless of the mafia control in Yorknew City, but once their eyes leveled to see the trademark smile of the most successful Hunter in the city, it offered no surprise but goosebumps erupting down the spine of every citizen because _Hisoka_ was the only exception: if there was not a splash of blood on his clothing, he would be seen with the head of his victim balanced on its bloody end on his palm, or if the hair was long enough, the trail of red would follow his tracks as he held onto the strands. His mischievous smile perked faintly when citizens, upon spotting him, would cross the street, would press themselves against a store, or walk past him, distractingly keeping their attention on their feet while treading slowly and cautiously.

Hisoka recalled a fond memory tucked in the deep recesses of his mind when he was on the street, taking an unhurried stroll before meeting the employer of his mission and felt someone bump against his shoulder in their stride. A tall man of average looks, a thin frame under his thick jacket to protect himself from the wispy winds of the cold autumn day, his face contorted in a manner that possessed no indication of apologizing for his rudeness. In a crass, arrogant voice, he barked, “Watch where yer fuckin’ goin’!”

In the blink of an eye and the mental process of a span of three to four seconds, a woman shrieked aloud as two severed arms ascended in midair from the impact before plopping onto the concrete, the sight of a man without two of his limbs registering in their minds around the vicinity. Hisoka examined his playing card, a dribble of blood soaked on one of its end, before leaving the scene to be resolved amongst the citizens having witnessed a man collapsing in pain, gasping under his blood that his vulgar gesture cost him his arms.

After he delivered the prize and earned his rewards, he wandered the area unhurriedly, satisfied under the cooling weather of the night, sparing a glance at the dried blood caking his fingernails-

Someone bumped into him and dashed forward, a small boy in tattered clothing, perhaps low-class economized rags, a fishing rod strapped to his equally tattered backpack, and with an abrupt halt he craned his neck back as he waved at Hisoka, shouting, “Sorry about that!” He returned to his normal pace before taking a sharp corner to a nearby alley, out of sight from the main shopping district, equally oblivious of the deathly dread seeping into the faces of the citizens eyeing Hisoka and the alley.

Entranced by the boyish charm of a child no older than nine or ten—while mildly appalled by the lingering scent of fish that followed him—a crafty smile formed on his lips as he tailed the trail into the alleyway. An aged man that watched the scene from his fruit stand intervened as he set a crate of apples down, taking a stiff stance in front of Hisoka, his eyes welled with fear and his bottom lip quivering as he tried to formulate his words clearly without stuttering from his own last minute realization that his life would be well over.

“He’s only a child,” he reasoned quietly.

Hisoka raised his hand as he slightly swerved around him, his nails swiping into the man’s skull in a swift fluid motion, his fingers curling inside that echoed the cracking of bones and sickening squelching sounds, the red coating dribbling down his fingers when he retracted his hand that fell back to his side. The lifeless body of the disfigured fruit vendor fell forward, his bloody wound brushing against his torso, staining his clothing that he disregarded in favor of following the center of his newfound attention. The alleyway was lit by the fruit shop’s single wall light, a blanket of darkness crept further in as it seem to be divided by a split between a dead-end and the opposite street.

And there he was: the light of the cloudless night sky provided an ample sight of a large cardboard box that homed two white graying, presumably by dirt, young adult felines swiping at the fish the boy held over their heads, bearing a lively grin full of warmth and noble compassion. The younger of the two successfully clawed the fish out of his hands that plopped onto the beaten platform of the box, producing a cheerful laugh caught between his whispers for the two cats not to swipe at one another. He hummed quietly to himself, unrolled a collection of kelp hidden nearly from view, and drew a smaller fish out for the pair, its putrid odor nearly making Hisoka’s nose crinkle.

The boy sniffed the air, concentration focused on the brick wall in a befuddled manner, his eyebrows knitting together as he craned his neck to follow the direction of the faint smell of blood

and blinked owlishly at the looming figure standing before him,

_watching him_ with an unwavering fixation that almost raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

A few seconds of chocking silence was processed between the two until finally the boy offered an enthusiastic but sheepish smile at his dawning awareness. “Oh, are you the one I ran into? Sorry, sorry, I was in a rush! These two,” he set the fish down, then rubbed at the fluffed fur of one of the cats, “get real hungry during dinner time, they get angry too when I take too long!” he explained, he returned his hand to his crossed lap, wiping the slimy, watery excess of the fish on his ragged sweatpants.

“Oh, is that so?” Hisoka responded patiently, flicking his hand to draw a playing card out, his tongue lapping his lips hungrily. Taking a few steps forward, he had readied himself to make a clean swipe--

“Ah! You got blood on you!” he blared in a panic before hoisting himself back to his feet, he reached forward, grabbing Hisoka by the arm carefully, and dragged him into the light to examine the blood on his other hand and the dark red stains near his waist. The boy tugged on the hem of his oversized sleeves over the joints of his small fingers, wiping away at an injury he assumed Hisoka bore on his hand, confusion evident in his expression as he quirked his head to the side when he turned Hisoka’s hand around to inspect his palm for a gash or an open bruise.

Heaving a sigh of relief, he said shortly after, “You seem okay here? I think I just can’t see all that great while it’s still too dark, but be careful anyway!” Releasing Hisoka’s hand, the boy redirected his large, brown eyes on the other spot tainted with blood, suppressing the compulsion to press his finger to check for the possibility an actual bruise that would be felt underneath.

When the two cats meowed behind the thoughtful youth, Hisoka drew his eyes closed, setting both hands on his hips, cackling quietly beneath his breath – he could barely grasp the thought of this strange sense of concern someone, _anyone_ has ever given him through a demented circumstance. Someone that possessed no visible fear, or was incapable of understanding the situation, and rather talked to him vibrantly about seeking a meal for two filthy animals than rummaging for warmer clothing beyond his shoddy rags.

The boy turned on his heel, deciding not to prod further than he should for the moment, and scooped the cats in his arms with the intention of briefly removing them from their box so he could toss the uneaten portions and prickly bones into the overstuffed garbage can residing in the corner of the alley.

Reopening his eyes, Hisoka drummed his fingers against his hips. “Tell me your name,” he said in an amorous murmur.

Pausing for a moment at the question, the boy’s arms drew the cats closer to his chest, with an eager disposition he responded, “It’s Gon!”

_How cute_ , Hisoka thought.

Gon was worth sparing.


	2. two steps, three steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hisoka becomes fonder of Gon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> instead of paying attention during my sociology class i daydreamed about hisogon for the remaining half hour i had left im going to jump off a cliff b y e
> 
> at least this pairing gives me the strength to endure my last week of finals bless

Ever since his encounter with the doe-eyed bundle of wholehearted enthusiasm, his thoughts gravitated solely on Gon, alternating between the burning desire to make a bloodbath out of him or savor his charm that brightens the most perturbed atmosphere with the pitch of his alluring laughter, the nearly contagious smile he provided for vile animals, the glimmer in his brown orbs that seemed fitting to  _snatch_   _the light_  that provided its strong intensity.

“N-No! _Pl-Please!_ I don’t want to di-die!”  
  
Hisoka’s smiled faltered when he regained his awareness of his victim digging his blunt fingernails into his arm to maintain his balance, his legs wildly kicking in the air in a fruitless attempt to escape, his squeak prominent when he crooked his neck slightly, peeking a glance at the distance from the top of the eleven story building and his plummet into the cold concrete below him.

The feeling of gratification returned when his victim’s neck tensed, Hisoka’s shoulders bopped up and down as he cackled, pierced through the skin, his fingers clamped tighter to crush the airway, a sputter echoing in the air of desperate gasps before a haunting silence followed when the last clench destroyed his victim’s larynx.

Having no use of a lifeless man, he released his grip, idly watching the body hit several flag poles on its descent, ultimately falling flat on the sidewalk, several seconds passing before a couple of shrieks were audible to be heard from the peak of the building. The thirst had fueled him – he had lost his opportunity with Gon three nights prior: he could imagine the dear sight of hearing the boy with wild black hair _screaming and begging. His legs cut off, his dull eyes reflecting his figure looming over him, Gon’s desperation encouraging him to use his arms to pull his body forward, small hands clenched on the hem of his pants. A thin coat of water would sheen his eyes in the dying gleam of the moonlight, but he would refuse to let the tears trickle down the contours of his soft, delicate face,_

_and he would be whimpering because there was just so much pain,_

_so much pain he could no longer bear it,_

_then he would chance a look, his face paling from the horror of the blood pooling under his mutilated thighs—_

Hisoka hummed appreciatively,  _perhaps_ he still would, and if not from the impression Gon had left behind, he could always find another little lamb to slaughter. Nonetheless, he would roam the city throughout the passing weeks, seeing Gon a seldom amount of times playing with stray animals, offering fruits to homeless adults and children with advance stages of emaciation. Gon, upon realizing Hisoka was nearby, would always greet him cheerfully, engage the other in a long, nonsensical conversation Hisoka found irrelevant, until finally excusing him to fish, care for the animals, or run some other errand that generated a positive outcome.

Unable to tolerate the odor of fish and the blemish that were his shabby rags, Hisoka presented Gon with a hefty box, a playing card laid on its closed flaps. Curious, Gon was going to sneak a peek of the contents since he was never given a straight answer when he asked, but instead he had his hair ruffled, the redhead told him to follow orders: enter the building, give the less-than-appealing front desk worker the box, show them the card, and wait for them to give _something_ in return.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Gon did as he was told, and although his curiosity was eating him from the inside out, he knew he was being entrusted with a task. After ten minutes passed, he exit through the sliding doors with a heavy sack hugged against chest, calling to Hisoka to claim his monetary rewards.

Gon stopped.

Hisoka was nowhere in sight.

Before he could fret that he could not return the billions of jenny clumped together in the sack, he noticed a stray playing card lying on the ground. Setting the sack on the ground, he kneeled down to inspect both sides: one side read ‘This reward is all for you. ♦,’ on the other side it had a series of a numbers followed by a simple message, ‘Contact me, Gon. ♥’

* * *

On the chances he had encountered Gon in the city after reaping the spoils of the last mission, he would admit to himself it was a savory experience to relish the sight of Gon in his new green shorts—at one point, Gon mentioned it allowed him a better running experience than the tattered sweatpants when he would travel from the alleys to the river and back again to feed some of the strays and two kittens that he convinced a random passersby to adopt—his exposed legs were inviting, but Hisoka tamed himself and often wasted his days following Gon in his aimless trips. The highlight of Hisoka’s day arrived when he received a call from after a refreshing shower, accepting the offer to meet one another at a plaza.

Hisoka arrived before him, pleasantly enjoying the opportunity to people-watch: their tense shoulders, their fast-paced walking – admittedly it was an enjoyable past time besides causing some blood to be shed. Gon arrived to their rendezvous five minutes later than the designated time, to which he apologized by scratching the back of his neck, then situated himself by facing Hisoka and kneeling on the fountain’s rim, his legs folded underneath his thighs.

“I bought something along the way!” he announced excitedly as he unstrapped his backpack from his shoulders and rummaged through its contents, eventually he fished out a small, yellow plastic water gun. “A merchant was selling them and I thought it would be fun to buy one!” he cheerfully explained, as a demonstration of its evidently minimal possibilities he removed the capsule from its socket and filled the small tubing with water, humming quietly to himself as he carefully screwed the capsule back into place.  
  
Hisoka observed Gon fumbling with the toy water gun in his hands; amused by the endearing antics he simply rested his hand under his chin, his free hand set on his lap as he patiently drummed his fingers against his thigh. Besides the bright energy Gon radiated from his natural eagerness, the tension thickened amongst the people watching him in the crowd: just as he observed Gon, everyone appeared to be holding onto their breaths for dear life, terror overpowering their bodies not to disturb the seemingly pleasant mood he bore with Gon and equally afraid that someone so young was unaware he was edging the border of life and a merciless death.  
  
They divided their attention from eating, talking, walking, to see if they were still safe, safe before they would be claimed as the next body dangling from a building or splattered on the sidewalk. Before he could utter a quiet chuckle in response to their anxiety, he heard Gon groaning about his ongoing struggle with his water gun, pressing hard on the trigger until finally a stream of water expelled from the toy, its aim drenching Hisoka's face and hair.  
  
Hisoka blinked a few times under his red fringes, his playful smile faltering into a fine line devoid of his usual sly, whimsical expression: he was genuinely startled that he never outright reacted but rather heard Gon laugh aloud, saying “Oops!” as he leaned forward and offered to “fix” the damage he had caused, lips upturned at the corners in gentle apology. Setting the water gun on Hisoka’s lap, Gon weaved his fingers through the dampened red strands, emitting a low hum of confusion to reconstruct the style.  
  
The citizens in the surrounding area stomachs dropped, a few were gulping down a lump in their throat as their paled expression directed Gon a look of pity and dread his limb or head would be rolling on the pavement within the second.  
  
Huffing at his unsuccessful attempts, Gon told him, “I don’t get how you do it. Augh, whatever! Your hair is fine this way too!” Perking a brighter grin to replace his moody frown, he ruffled the crest of Hisoka’s hair to tease the clumps of wet strands, fully intending to create a silly mussed mess. When Gon untucked his knees from the rim, in favor of sitting properly for a brief moment, he kicked his feet in the air, anticipating even the smallest reaction.  
  
Hisoka straightened his back, pushing his fringes back to regain his sight, pausing a moment to rake through the strands to untangle the knots Gon had caused out of a surprising amount of sheer mischief. Casually he responded, “I suppose so,” then proceeded to wipe off the soaked face paint dribbling down the grooves at the corner of his lips.  
  
Gon overlooked his disappointment when he rubbed his belly, a loud rumbling that caused him to laugh sheepishly, his brown eyes peering at the few restaurants around the area with a ravenous glint. Hisoka teased him on his behalf and extended an offer for Gon to choose any place to eat. People immediately redirected their gaze elsewhere and almost felt they could exhale for the first time during the long, unbearable minutes, others exchanged looks to grasp the very notion that somehow had channeled a sense of civility into Hisoka.  
  
After fastening his backpack, as well as recollecting his water gun, Gon ran ahead, his mouth salivating by the bright colors inviting him with their pleasant and appealing pictures, but when he finally decided on a small shop, he turned around and pointed to the store, practically bouncing on the heels of his boots. Receiving a nod of approval, Gon scrambled inside first, his booming voice offering a warm to the owners of the shop. As for Hisoka, he made an immediate halt before advancing, flicking his hand to draw a card and raised it a little above his shoulder, swaying it between his fingers as a warning to the pursuer following his tracks.  
  
He lapped his tongue over his teeth, daring them to reveal themself or strike while he was still tending to Gon.  
  
After a few moments, the boy opened the door and poked his head out, looking both ways until he spotted Hisoka waving at him, then pocketing the card away to cater to Gon’s appetite. Although he declined the opportunity to eat—he favored the chance watching Gon eat, regardless of his sloppy and rushed mannerisms—he occasionally adverted his focus on Gon to catch a glimpse of the window.  
  
At one point, Gon stuffed his mouth with a forkful of noodles, his cheeks smudged by thick dollops of the pasta sauce that he disregarded to continuously fill his stomach. With less than honest intentions, Hisoka pressed his finger against Gon’s cheek to wipe some of the excess, then retracted his hand and slowly licked off the sauce spilling down his nail.  
  
Gon regarded him with an unfazed, neutral countenance. “Are you sure you’re not hungry, Hisoka?”  
  
“Not at all,” he purred. Hisoka chuckled silently to himself, his shoulders rising and falling – he knew he should have expected Gon’s blatant goodness to shine through.

* * *

When the sky had set its black blanket stretching across the horizon, Hisoka—who at some point decided to accept his fate with his hair down for the remainder of the day—accompanied Gon on his return to his hotel room—a new addition with the stacks of jenny he still had spared—and although the trip had a handful moments of complete silence, most of the time Gon would be conversing about a product he past while distractingly window shopping, about his morning spent fishing as a means of breakfast, and other times about general cat care or animal care, as well as his lingering curiosity if the two cats were in a loving home. He furrowed his brows when Hisoka would wordlessly scan the area – Gon endured a rush of self-restraint, a will power that neared his breaking point to ask a question, but he sealed his lips despite how much more difficult it became further down the stretched blocks of Yorknew.  
  
Though faint, Gon felt an unnerving sensation of being watched, and yet all around him for as far as he could see there was only an abundant amount of people shopping and a heavy line of cars stuck in traffic. While he was discussing with Hisoka the importance of a good, sturdy line for a fishing rod, he heard the distinct sounds of footsteps rapidly approaching, _rushing_ footsteps of a panicked individual-  
  
Hisoka was prepared to immediately seize a vice grip on the pursuer until he peered down at Gon grounded on his feet behind his back, teeth bared at the steel blade caught between his hands slicing deep into the skin of his palms, the familiar red seeping between his fingers.  
  
The pursuer released their grip on the handle, allowing Gon the opportunity to release the weapon that clattered on the concrete, frantically he shook the blood off his hands in a vain hope to lessen the searing sting. "That hurt!" he whined childishly, grumpily he raised his palms to inspect the bruising. "Maybe I could still fish…? Hey, Hisoka, I can still fish, rig-" his voice tailed away in mutters as an arm shot over his head, the pointed tips of his hair pushed forward slightly by the swooping rush of air, his eyes bearing witness of the pursuer’s muffled struggling in Hisoka’s tightening grip.

Respiration and heart rate accelerating as the city’s sights seems to constrict around him, Gon steeled his resolve and swiftly turned around, momentarily taken aback the usual golden gleam that had always regarded him with a mischievous glint were hardened and murderous, erupting goosebumps throughout his body. Regaining his determination, he cupped his bruised hands around Hisoka’s forearm, tugging on the pink bands for him to relent.

“Let him go!” he protested, his mouth fumbling to properly coax him. Hisoka looked at him from the corner of his eye in the same manner as the man flailing his hands, a subtle warning for Gon not to intervene.

Agitation growing to a fevered pitch, as well as his unwavering stubbornness anchoring him, Gon’s eyebrows knit together, his voice escalating to a loud shout. “ _Hisoka!”_

Slowly but surely the pursuer’s face, although faintly bruised from the pressure inflicted, was released, his eyelashes were clumped into spikes from the near-death experience stinging the rim of his eyes, with a shriek he reclaimed the blade, messily scrambling back onto his feet, legs wobbling from his shock until he regained the steady momentum to flee. Watching him go, Gon sighed through his nose, lips twitching at the corners in humorous disbelief that somehow, someway he was able he would see one less deteriorating corpse on the street.

Realization steadily crept over him that he redirected his attention back on Hisoka intently watching the pursuer becoming a gray dot in the distance.

First things first.

Gon grabbed the hem of his Hisoka’s outfit, forcing him to kneel to his level, then wagged his finger streaked with a lining of trickling blood. “He was wrong to attack but it’s a lot more wrong to almost kill him! You. Should. Never. Try. To. Kill. Someone,” he enunciated the latter slowly, emphasized with the wave of his finger nearly touching the tip of Hisoka’s nose. “It’s not the right thing to do, so don’t do it! Promise me you won’t!” he withdrew his hand and set both on his hips, his lips pursed in his heated indignation.

Although startled to be handled so easily by someone physically weaker and smaller in height, Hisoka’s lips broke into his trademark crafty smile; he was willing to humor Gon nonetheless. “I promise,” he lied.

The response returned Gon’s positive disposition as he let one arm fall back into place and offered his hand with the other, pinky raised, and although he was given a blank gaze at first, Hisoka reciprocated the gesture. Beaming, he said in a sing-song manner, “Pinky swear made. Whoever breaks their promise has to swallow a thousand needles,” fingers woven together, he turned his and Hisoka’s hand around, “and sealed with a  _kiss!_ ” he finished, pressing long and hard onto the longer, paler opposing thumb.

When the two released their hold, Gon announced he would go on ahead, bidding a cheerful farewell before scampering away. Hisoka rose to his feet, raising his hand to brush his fingers against his bottom lip,

the flare in Gon’s young eyes were ignited in that short moment when he was angered,

_there was potential beyond his kindness,_

and the look of frustration, of mild anger that not only heightened his fascination but arousal as well.

Everyone on the streets turned the blind eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “gon ruffled hisokas hair once” ive been reading this wrong since ever and i thought you meant gon pissed him off somehow and now i understood when i reread that again lord give me strength im going to keel over i was so stressed how gon couldve struck a nerve
> 
> so uh sorry in advance im not feeling this chapter it might be just me bUT I DONT KNOW morality pet gon is work pleasant hisoka is work _am i doing this right o m g_
> 
> if everything seems ok the next chapter is a two year time skip heyoo hes gonna be twelve i hope you know what that means
> 
> ***i double checked episode 88 for something and apparently that pinky swear kissing part is a custom on a whale island but since its au-ish lets not go into too many details bc the next chapter y/y


	3. two steps and a stumble, three steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gon remembers a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to split it so i lied gon is 11 now 12 in the other chapter i didnt think id have to split it uGH but at long last just one more chapter

Eyelids fluttering open, a room of sterile white surrounded Gon: a television perched on a shelf at a corner displayed a morning cartoon show, when his gaze drifted from the blank white ceiling to the center of the room, he blearily spotted an arrangement of handmade decorations and colorful bubble-print wallpaper taped against the door, scribbled on with black ink from the names of former patients presumably discharged. Beside him was a boy eating his gelatin dessert, his eyebrows knitted peevishly at the tube of his IV needle interfering with his attempts to scoop the jiggling jelly from its cup, the cord tubing had pushed the smaller lumps off the spoon and onto the plate of his tray. After a while, the boy noticed Gon awake and waved in a friendly manner, he then pointed to his throat and shook his head, indicating his recent surgery rendered him incapable of speech for the meanwhile.

Returning the welcoming gesture, Gon rose forward from his bed with an unsteady wobble, the remnants of a dull sting lingered in the back of his head; his awareness roused his attention to seek the sudden tight compression on his lower body. Tugging the white cotton fleece blanket aside, he discovered a pillow immaculately set beneath a thick cast binding his leg. Confused, he pressed his thumb and index finger on his knee, the leftover drowsiness enveloping his conscious was startled awake as he hissed at his decision spurred by a mingled amount of curiosity and stupidity.

Blinking owlishly at the wall, although uncertain whether it was the previous or prior night, he had remembered:

_“Now Mito…”_

_“Now nothing! I don’t ever want to hear the name_ Ging Freecss _mentioned here! Gon is only seven, why should he know about a father that_ left him _to become a_ Hunter _?”_

For several nights, he recalled some of his memories that were unintentionally locked away in the recesses of his mind: he was young when he woke up along the shoreline of an entirely new city with a headache, damp clothing, and several animals sniffing him to decide whether he was a dead body to feast on. When he wandered the city by himself, he overheard several news reports blaring information of a shipwreck from the impact of a torrential waterspout that impeded the travel of a simple, wooden ship delivering hauls of fish. Faintly he recalled sneaking on a ship, and for the next few years it was all he could remember before he lived in various parts of the city to survive through the cold unforgiving winters and seemingly never-ending spring rain showers.

As of current, his nights were spent shifting and turning on his bed, the static dreams only pieced together bits and pieces of a conversation between two people – it was the first night in four years he had heard the words exchanged completely as if it were said directly in his presence. On one lightly powdered afternoon, he made an attempt of searching through different articles and databases, the small textual font he had wasted his time reading overloaded his head with useless information that he had to make a stop at a pastry shop to reward himself for lasting half an hour. His second attempt on the same afternoon was at a library to search the databases, every so often looking at the large glass panes beyond him to take a glimpse of people casually taking a stroll outside while he waited restlessly for the page to load.

He was able to gather vague descriptions to become a Hunter that admittedly peaked his interest, while his searches for Ging and Mito were absolutely fruitless – gathering the information he was able to process and retain, he needed someone’s license to search the databases for more detailed articles. When it clicked he could make a quick visit to the only Hunter he had connections with, his train of thought was immediately interrupted when a shrill voice shouted “Thief!”

A petty looking criminal clad in black, his face concealed by a black ski mask, dashed past the library, holding a metal rod in one hand and a large red purse in the other hand, and following far behind was a woman in pursuit, stopping short to catch her breath in front of the library.

On instinct, Gon deserted the computer, ran past the woman and reassured her loudly he would catch the thief for her: the task was not entirely difficult; the thief was a slow runner, even slower with the coating of snow forming on the pavement compared to his years of continuously running around the city to secure food for the strays regardless of the weather conditions. Leaping forward, Gon latched his hands tightly on the man’s shoulder, he tucked his knees for a fraction of a second after his jump to secure his balance to then shoot his legs forward—as if similar to the motion of a pendulum—in the space between the man’s shoulder blades, knocking the thief forward on the pavement, his metal rod clattering an inch away from his loosened grip.

Quickly jumping off the thief’s back, Gon plucked the purse off the ground, patting the snow off its leather exterior. The woman had taken off her heels to catch up with Gon, through breathless gasps she thanked him for his efforts and offered him various forms of compensation. “No, really, it’s okay,” he affirmed humbly, “just be careful-“

The criminal garbled a string of profanities under his breath, discreetly he snatched the metal rod, in his fevered aggravation he bellowed, “You brat!”

The length of the metal rod’s swing could have been easily avoided when he spotted the intended assault out of the corner of his eye, but he decided in the last moment to absorb the forceful impact that would have struck her leg rather than his if he evaded. Gon doubled over, biting his lower lip at the pulsating throb, his momentary immobility tampered with his senses that failed him to swiftly duck to avoid the merciless swing at the back of his skull.

The stream of noises he heard included the woman uttering a bloodcurdling scream, the authoritative bark of a police officer, the dull thump of his body colliding against the ground,

his vision split into doubles before fading into black.

Sighing through his nose, he reasoned he should wait for a nurse to arrive to give an estimate time of recovery. Unfortunately when a nurse did arrive, he suppressed the urge to groan miserably on three accounts: physical therapy was strongly recommended—he refused—his fractured leg would recover “In about roughly two months, isn’t that great news!”, someone was going to question him about his parents to sign his discharge paper—Gon’s small smile faltered, he caught himself in the mess of a long, tedious process—and returning to the hotel in general with less than comfortable looking crutches would cause an exasperating strain under his arms.

Humming pensively, Gon asked the nurse, “Can I make a call?” Peering down at his hospital gown, he quickly posed a request. “Can I get my clothes back first?”

* * *

Gon mouthed an apology to the petrified groups of employees, visitors, security guards, and his nurse bidding him a feeble farewell:

On the ground floor level were scattered pieces of severed barrels from the limped, faulty guns aimed at Hisoka upon his arrival shortly after his patience withered to form a malicious smirk at the front desk worker refusing to hand him the paperwork, her face draining of color discussing the matter with him—or, at least, Gon gathered as much as he sneaked past his nurse earlier to change out of the gown that unbearably reddened the tips of his ears after feeling the hospital’s cold, ventilated draft sending a shudder down his exposed back—while Gon hobbled out of the elevator and took in the disarrayed sight before him, his nurse caught him by the shoulder, strictly scolding him for disobeying the hospital’s policies and endangering his recovery by walking without his crutches in a winded fervor.

Her voice tailed away in mutters as she craned her head, exchanging looks with the terrified staff members subtly ordering her to hand Gon his crutches and say nothing more than to retreat a relatively safe distance away. Gon grinned brightly, thanked his nurse for his crutches, and waved in Hisoka’s direction to draw his attention over.

Realizing Hisoka arrived with his hair down and damp from a recent shower, Gon offered a guilty smile upturned at the corners of his lips, but gradually he felt a wave of satisfaction to be freed from the hospital ward that crinkled his nose in disgust. He was reunited with the outside world of the cold season, the specks of white dotting the gray sunless sky cascaded gently onto the ground that formed into pristine mounds overnight. It was an entirely new experience with a heavy cast wrapped around his leg, but he was having an enjoyably amusing time prodding the branches of tall trees he could have never reached otherwise without jumping high enough – Hisoka accommodated to his handicap by offering his shoulders, the crutches, along with the extra green boot, tucked securely under his arm.

Without being asked, Gon chattered idly over the incident, “So I was looking for something and then all of a sudden there was this purse snatcher on the loose and I wanted to help, but when I got him I didn’t want to knock him out or really wound him. People have their reasons, I think! Hmm, I really should’ve though…? Just so I wouldn’t have been stuck in the hospital, but anyway! I saw him coming but if he didn’t hit me, he would’ve hit her instead. And then he just hit my head, which still kinda hurts?” Rubbing the lump with the pad of his fingers, he whined quietly, “I guess I’m not that lucky when I run into crooks, but I don't want to knock them out unless they're doing something really bad.”

Miffed, he nudged his finger several times against the back of Hisoka’s head. “Speaking of bad, you shouldn’t have scared the desk lady! If you were threatening her, don't do it again! Actually, you shouldn't be threatening people at all!”

Gon subsequently rambled from his short time at the hospital, distractingly gathering snow in large clumps from the awnings of different stores.

Bearing a neutral, disinterested expression, Hisoka was sorting through ideas to track the criminal: he had the stimulating desire to shatter every bone in their body,

“—Hunter license—”

to cackle at their remorseful wailing, their shaken voice dripping with desperation not to approach,

“—listening?”

and to elicit a fright that took every cell in his body to subdue a delighted moan encouraging his blood-driven hunger, he would bend his knees beside the motionless body,

“—angry at me?”

using an illusionary trick, he would materialize a card between his fingers, pressing the tip against the tear-streaked or horror-contorted face puffing out heavy gasps of nearly inaudible “No, pl-please!”

“—sorry…”

He would slice a pocket in the skin to embed the card inside from tipping over or getting blown away by a gust of wind—a little gift for the group or individual that discovers the body—his fingers would trail down the thief’s chin, down their neck, tenderly stroking their throat before clamping down, emitting a low, approving sound at the choked gurgles

“—soka?”

because he would be the only one allowed to inflict harm, to create dark lasting bruises, to claw through the succulent unblemished skin until beads of blood dribbled down the tips of his fingernails,

Gon was _his_ unripen fruit.

“ _Hisoka!”_  Gon said testily at the lack of a response. In retaliation, he parted the ball of snow in his hands unevenly, lowered his arms, and smothered the crystalline clumps of frozen water messily on Hisoka’s face. Specks of the balled flakes tumbled down the bridge of his nose, the chilled frost caked over his lips, his vision clouded by tiny dots of white powdered snow resting on his eyelids.

Hisoka stopped walking.

Gon, on the other hand, protested huffily, “I’ve been calling your name over and over again because you weren’t listening! I wasn’t sure if you were mad so I even said sorry!” Remembering the point of his conversation, he dropped the grumpy tone to ask warmly, “Ah! So can I borrow your Hunter’s license? I need it for something!”

As a courtesy for his blatant juvenile behavior, Gon dusted the snow clumped together off the red strands, his unfractured leg thumping against Hisoka's chest gently and lightheartedly for a reply.

He blinked suddenly and looked up before squishing his fingers into his eyes to wipe the remains of the cold fluffed snow, his other hand tightly clenched the grip of the crutches that, with anymore pressure, would have cracked in his grasp. Maintaining a steady tone, Hisoka responded, “And what would that something be?”

“Oh! Just to…uh,” he laughed aloud fretfully, shifting his gaze elsewhere, “just to find something out, y-yeah! It won’t take long!”

With the snow out of his eyes enough, Hisoka moved his hand over to the kneecap of Gon’s injured leg, he quirked his head, humming pleasantly as he pressed his fingers on the fragile, bruised joint, invoking the squealing yelp despite the façade of civil friendliness on his face. Gon's alluring whines of protest spurred his exhilaration to one day _hear it again in a different and promising situation,_  but acknowledging his endeavor to control his arousal, he accepted the necessity to wait, as of now however-

Tentatively prying his fingers from the joint, Gon pouted indignantly. “That hurt, you know! That wasn’t even fair, I can’t move all that good!”

“Gon,” Hisoka chimed, smiling patiently.

Heaving a sigh through his nose, Gon resigned his fate to confess, seeing that he could no longer dodge the question as much he would have wanted. “Can we head to the lobby of the place you’re staying at since it’s a lot closer? The thing is, I need to search for two people that, um…might be real?”

* * *

When the pair arrived at the computer station the hotel supplied, it was a separate closed room that provided three monitors with all but one space unoccupied, the other two people averted their attention away from the screens to the newcomers, their hands hovering over the mouse quivered with fear, unsure whether they could leave or if they would be leaving unscathed at all. A rush of relief eased their apprehension when Gon tapped Hisoka’s shoulder to be set down, he used the frame of the door to maintain his steadiness; Gon rejected the use of the crutches and directed a modest grin at the two occupants. “Sorry for intruding. Don’t worry, we’ll be out really soon,” he assured.

Reluctantly they turned their chairs around, their heads dipped closer to the monitor to avoid eye contact, their heavy gulps distinct in the still atmosphere. Gon stuck his foot out and hopped with his good leg to approach the revolving chair, and amused by his unwavering stubbornness, Hisoka offered his wrist to ensure Gon had something to hold onto while he took the few careful hops forward, the gleam of dedication evident in his brown irises. When he finally had a grip of the chair, his smile deflated, mentally debating whether he should claim the chair or allow Hisoka to sit down and search in his place for his efforts while he would remain standing with his injured leg raised out to alleviate the pressure.

Not entirely favoring the outcome of his choice, Gon swiveled the chair around, pointedly he told Hisoka, “If it sounds okay, you should sit down and I’ll get on your lap, so that way there’s room for the both of us.”

Receiving the end of a prolonged silence, Gon panicked, quickly amending his remark, “Unless you want it since I did drag you out! See,” to demonstrate his resilience, he gripped the arch of the seat and hopped a few times, “it’s nothing! I can stand!”

“How cute of you,” Hisoka purred—Gon huffed, “What? No I’m not!”—accepting the compromise, he set the crutches and single boot by the doorway and seized the opportunity to claim the small space. Patting his thighs invitingly, he chuckled at Gon’s moody disposition after complimenting his endearing charm.

Gon used the armrests to hoist and situate himself in a comfortable position, oblivious to Hisoka’s deviant gratification of the continuous shuffling, his fingers twitching excitedly but he refrained himself from making the slightest movement. Gon overlooked the accommodations and proceeded to input the details needed to access the information ordinarily restricted to basic, standard databases. Distractingly while he typed, he explained, “I’m not sure if there’s going to be anything on them because it really might’ve been just a dream? It won’t stop me from trying though!” he took a pause from typing the entry, exhaling sharply to prepare himself in advance if the results had nothing to offer. Steeling his resolve, Gon added a last name, swallowing the lump in his throat as the results narrowed significantly from the hundreds to one.

“Mito Freecss,” Hisoka repeated the name from the single profile displayed, “her surname is similar to-“

Gon erupted with excitement; frantically he plucked the pen from the provided caddy and tore the sheet of the sticky pad. “I’m related to her! She said Ging in my dream, that he’s a Hunter, and that he’s my dad!” Scribbling down _Whale Island_ on the note, his giddy mood was unperturbed when he elaborated further, “He left me to become a _Hunter!_ ”

Mildly surprised by Gon’s passionate enthusiasm despite the latter circumstances, Hisoka’s grin peaked at the corners: Gon _did_ carry an untapped potential and he was more than obliged to hone Gon into a strong fighter, to release the power dwelling inside—

“I want to see her! I want to see them both!” shaking in anticipation, he was not disappointed when the results for Ging only contained a brief description of his rank. “I’m going to…I’m going to find him! He wants me to find him, I know it!

Tilting his head, he proclaimed confidently to Hisoka, “I’m going to become a Hunter!”

—so when the time came to relish the tantalizing sight of his growth, to engage one another in a memorable fight, he would have no qualms _to tear and break_ _Gon apart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> running down the checklist and  
> ☑ acts civil toward gon  
> ☑ talks to gon  
> ☑ gon ruffled hisokas hair  
> ☑ lets gon sit on his shoulders  
> ☐ teaches him  
> yeah yeah yeAH one more thing to go yeehaw
> 
> "he sneaked past his nurse earlier to change out of the gown that unbearably reddened the tips of his ears after feeling the hospital’s cold, ventilated draft sending a shudder down his exposed back"  
> ive been laughing at what i wrote for like ten years bc gon freakin wears some little ass shorts that im like 5854% certain are getting shorter as the series progresses god bless


	4. three steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gon prepares himself and sets off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long ass delay to post this but yea not im rly not motivated to do hxh fics anymore its been gucci tho so im here to post this to get it over with and tbh its lackluster than what i was originally gonna deliver but heck something is better than having this on chapter 3/4 until the end of time u feel
> 
> ****this aint betaed****

The ambient sound effects of the television’s animated cartoon echoed softly in the still, quiet room, which was filled to the brim with an assortment of large books splayed on the carpeted floor. Stacked encyclopedias remained on the bedside table – pages among pages of small text summarized the context of the colorful, illustrated wildlife native to the quaint land of Whale Island. Its picturesque, sunny seashore was enveloped at the brim in the embrace of the sea.

To moderately disperse the eagerness surging through his body, he would rest his back against the bed frame, and his free hand would fist the duvet covers rather than distractingly prodding his kneecap to examine the extent of his injury’s discomfort. Inhaling sharply through his nostrils, Gon continuously reminded himself that recovery would be within reach, and such a reassuring fact reduced his jittering impatience. Setting aside a compendium of the world’s isles from his lap, and swiping a dribble of melted ice scream slithering down his thigh with the hem of his green sleeve, Gon drew his eyelids shut to immerse himself in the scenic landscape of his homeland. He arranged the information ingrained in his head from the countless hours he invested memorizing the concaves of the photographed trees to the particular arches of the island’s architecture.

The longer he focused on the pictures in the encyclopedias, the more he could imagine himself venturing to the island itself: strolling through the harbor, envisioning the sight of preoccupied sailors hauling cargo and fresh fish, and walking the bumpy pavement that would take him  _home._ Although his excitement energized his body and mind, a bit of disappoint lingered in his heart to leave the city he had convinced himself was ‘home,’ regardless of the repugnant alleyways littered by shady characters, or the hostile, wild animals that would rouse him awake with a startle when they sunk their jagged fangs on his ankles in his unconscious state. Or even the instances when he was pelted with objects or endured a tangent of profanities by nearby shop owners when he merely carried the intention to examine their products. He could never bring himself to steal; it was against his nature and will to snatch an item despite his whining belly tempting him otherwise.

It was home because he no longer lived on the streets, he no longer had to scavenge or trek to and from the lake during the earliest hours of the morning, and he no longer had to wistfully glance at the windows during the holidays to determine, whether or not, if even for a moment, he could feel like he was partaking in the warmth of their merriment as well. Although he was aware a companion was not essential—

The jiggle of the doorknob encouraged him to reopen his eyes, his content smile perked exponentially at the arrival of the suite’s owner. The flash of white plastic spurred his mouth to salivate: the aroma was thick, empowering, and the roar in his belly followed shortly after he shot forward. Hisoka regarded his ravenous appetite with a pleased chuckle, and closing the door behind him with the tip of his heel, he informed his guest he would leave the bag across the room.

Gon’s eyebrows furrowed together. The notion of hobbling to the other side was degrading considering his blatant attempts to avoid the use of his uncomfortable crutches, yet the thought of declining a challenge wounded his ego more than his stiff mobility aids.

Shaking the contents of the bag with his thumb and forefinger, Hisoka hummed playfully, “Do you suppose this is too much of a distance to bear?”

“No, I can do it!” he declared determinedly, and took a sharp inhale of air to ready himself as he threw his legs over the bed. A brief pause intervened his once tenacious resolve as he hardened his gaze at the carpeted floor beneath his feet, and chanting words of encouragement in his head, Gon hopped off the edge of the bed. Landing on both feet, while suppressing a hiss at the pulsating throb soaring through his injured limb, he offered a tight, toothy grin at his victory.

Refusing to utilize his walking aids and allow his temporary handicap to hinder his motivated spirit, he alternated between limping and hopping to the bag of food, its enticing allure overpowered his strained muscles yearning for a respite.

Before the food that had beckoned him could become his as he gave one last hop forward, the plastic bag was raised higher by an amused Hisoka. However, charmed by the boy’s valiant efforts, he marginally lowered the dangling bag enough for Gon’s small little fingers to clasp the handle. “See,” he chirped excitedly, “I told you I could do it!”

After Gon weakly limped in his return to the bed, he contently situated himself on the edge, eagerly munching on his bagel in large, messy mouthfuls. Hisoka planted himself beside Gon, his hand tucked under his chin, his gaze locked at the wall across from him as he busied himself with his thoughts: expected to recover within the next two weeks, he could hardly contain his exhilaration to seize the opportunity to sink his knuckles into the child’s fragile ribcage, to eagerly detect his winded gasp or the sight of his eyes dilating, and his expression contorting when the searing pain registered in his lithe body. He could damage Gon under the pretenses of ‘training’ and ‘honing his stamina for the exams,’ which, he reasoned, were not necessarily false either,

as long as Gon was still barely clinging onto life, of course.

Entranced and occupied by his imagination— _the howling cries or weepy sobs having his limbs restrained, twisted, and shattered. Witnessing Gon’s face smeared by tears, sweat, blood, and mucus. An eye swollen and his sunkissed skin marred by the reddened vibrancy of skin internally bleeding at the orbit_ —he was unaware of the light shuffling beside him. The weight of the bed dipped slightly as Gon shifted to lean against Hisoka and smear his vanilla pudding-covered finger over his cheek.

Gon wagged his pudding-drenched finger and informed him, “You weren’t paying attention again, so I drew a face on your cheek.” Grinning impishly, Gon hastily dipped his finger in the cup to gather a large dollop precariously slipping off his fingernail, and transferred the goopy, creamy blob onto the tip of Hisoka’s nose. Immediately withdrawing, he burst into a fit of loud, delighted giggles. “Got’cha!”

Hisoka’s frown crept at the corners to form a forced, lopsided smile. “It would appear so. Allow me to offer you a congratulatory present.”

Mouth gaping wide, a glimmer flashed in his chestnut brown eyes. Gon parroted the offered token, “A present?! Really?”

Hisoka hummed amusedly in response. He snatched the partially consumed treat, and with his free hand, he clasped the back of Gon’s head to forcibly press it against the pudding cup crinkling against his mouth. Relishing the sight of the plastic cup tumbling from his chin, Gon’s smile deflated into a miffed frown, and he lapped his tongue over his mouth to wipe the custard smeared over the grooves of his cheeks. “You’re such a big bully,” he said grumpily.

Yet his miffed disposition did not last longer than a few seconds, rather he reminded Hisoka to inspect himself at a mirror to marvel at the unsteady lines of the pudding doodle dabbed on the side of his face.

—a partner, friend, or companion made any journey, and any day, more exciting than having no one by his side at all.

* * *

 The gradual rode to patient recovery allowed Gon to reap the overdue rewards as the nurse removed the brace from his leg, her smile warm and wholehearted as Gon merrily hopped on his formerly injured leg and waved just as energetically to the staff as he bade them his goodbyes. Full of vigor, energy, his eyes possessed a playful sheen as he took his first step into the city without his handicap. Balling his hands into tight fists, he hopped over the elevated platforms of the city, and his shoulders juddered in boyish delight as he relayed the information of his official discharge to Hisoka.

Gon’s heart fluttered with joy when he was given the privilege to be trained, and his eager nod dismissed Hisoka’s underlying, sardonic smirk: Gon enthusiastically acknowledged their training session would possess just as much physical severity as the exams, and despite the possibility of sporting an array of newly blackened bruises, he remained grounded and his decision undeterred.

Throughout the course of several intense regimens, Hisoka eased the tremble coursing through his wrists as he lapped his tongue over his teeth. He sated his overwhelming bloodlust by gripping a weakened Gon by his skull, his fingers tugging his wild hair to forcibly tip his head back, his tone honeyed as he whispered in the boy's ears words of cynical discouragement. The fiery glow in his eyes would regain its resolved stubbornness, and Gon would croak a retort to demonstrate his capabilities of showcasing his potential—"Keep going, I can take it!" Alternatively, "No! I'm not giving up! I'm absolutely not giving up!”—and occasionally, he would successfully stun Hisoka with his quick and abrupt change in tactics.

When he lost, which was nearly every session, he would puff out his chest and proudly recognize that, despite the injuries, if he surprised Yorknew’s most feared hunter, then that alone was an accomplishment. 

On the other hand, Hisoka would marvel Gon’s form after every battle to survey his bruises and regard the darker impacts with a satisfied snicker. Repressing the temptation to ground his fist into his small, fragile body  _with all his force_  was a difficult task and testament to his prolonged patience, so he maintained his composure enough to endure every training session without damaging his little pet into a terrified, shaken, and tearful mess.

In the passing weeks, Hisoka eventually affirmed Gon's readiness for the exams and agreed, at Gon’s request, to accompany him to the harbor for his departure. While the conversation was a rapid, one-sided interaction as Gon's vibrant happiness followed his lively tangents, he blinked incredulously at the sound of the hollering ship horn alerting boarding passengers of its impending departure. Casually he informed Hisoka he needed to hurry to catch up to the ship, and immediately broke into a sprint.

Gon, however, stopped to an abrupt halt, his jogging dwindling into a series of slow steps, and he scratched his cheek bashfully before turning on the balls of his heels to return to Hisoka in an unhurried pace despite the second, whistling call of the ship readily prepared to set sail without or without his participation. Hisoka quirked an eyebrow when Gon spared a glance left and right anxiously, the modest, neutral frown formed into a sheepish smile as he made a gesture to Hisoka to come closer, as if displaying the desire to share a private secret with the other. Bending his knees to Gon’s level, he dipped his head forward to comply to his request, anticipating a few words spoken in his ear rather than Gon elevating his height by standing on the tips of his toes and wrapping his arms around the hunter’s neck.

“I better see you again! And the next time I do, I wanna introduce you to Ging!” his animated, bubbly tenor dissolved into a calm, wholeheartedly appreciative tone. “Thanks, Hisoka.”

He did not choose to linger or delay his departure any longer as he withdrew. Offering a bright grin as he ran backwards, he waved his arms frantically and shouted, “Remember to keep your promise! Bye-bye!”

His speedy ascension up the wooden ramp prompted the crew to recall the bridge, the whistle piercing the area for its final call. Gon’s form was almost undetectable, and for a moment Hisoka assumed Gon had retired to his cabin for the day-

At the forecastle of the ship, Gon jumped in place a few times, hands gripping the metal railings of the bow. His smile wild, cheerful, and his voice as booming and lively as his free-spirited enthusiasm. “Take care!” he paused thoughtfully, an evident amount of hesitation had replaced his earnest happiness until he could no longer contain the lingering modesty to blurt aloud, “I’ll become a great Hunter, Hisoka!”

Hisoka slowly raised one hand to wave farewell, the other hand behind his back clenched tightly into a fist, the row of knuckles white at the joints as he desperately contained his dwindling self-restraint. His nails sunk into the skin of his palm, and produced tiny beads of red blood seeping through the self-inflicted punctures.

His shoulders bopped up in down in his silent cackle, his stimulated aura warded the few people around the proximity to vacate the area, and others fled in haste when they overheard his voice utter a sinister, shallow purr, “You certainly will, Gon.”

_Patience_ , he reminded himself,

there was still time for Gon to mature,

there was still time before he could feast on the sweet ambrosia of his delectable apple,

there was still time before  _he could absolutely break his precious, little toy_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me on the flip side doing gravity falls shit and probably rotg again bc i am and always will be interspecies trash #deuces


End file.
